


the girl who swallowed a star

by prismaticuniverse



Category: The Half of It (2020)
Genre: F/F, booboo the fool, i am in pain over these two, i told myself i wouldn't write anymore but here i am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:22:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24035011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prismaticuniverse/pseuds/prismaticuniverse
Summary: Her mind spins and spins, a current of thoughts and feelings left unspoken and tucked away behind a prim smile, and Aster suddenly wishes she could go where she can get some space. Aster’s POV of two moments she felt lost and one moment she didn't.
Relationships: Ellie Chu & Aster Flores, Ellie Chu/Aster Flores
Comments: 14
Kudos: 169





	the girl who swallowed a star

**Author's Note:**

> the title is a play on the howl's moving castle song and how aster's name references stars and aster has "swallowed" a star in that she mostly keeps her thoughts and feelings to herself for the sake of fitting in. the idea for this fic wouldn't leave me alone after i saw this [gifset](https://asterflors.tumblr.com/post/617141699471343616/ive-never-felt-so-understood-or-the-2-times). i also couldn't stop thinking about how alice said in the director's commentary that aster kissed paul right after the hot springs because she didn't understand why she was having all these ~*feelings*~ with someone that she couldn't possibly be feeling anything for.. oh aster, you disaster bi, you are welcome to stay rent-free in my head forever.

**1.**

Trip Carson is cut from the same cloth as his son- earnest and confident, if not a bit too self-absorbed in his own grandeur. So it’s no surprise that Mr. Carson believes the topic of gravel makes for scintillating conversation, and it’s no surprise that Deacon Flores politely listens to every word. “You can’t even imagine how much the right gravel can change your life!” Carson exclaims passionately, nearly spilling the shot of whiskey in his hand as Deacon Flores nods in agreement and reaches for one of Mrs. Carson’s elegantly arranged hor'dourves.  
  
“From gravel we came, to gravel we shall return!” Deacon Flores says amiably before taking a bite of the hor’dourve. “Do I detect a hint of saffron?” Mrs. Carson preens at his quick catch while Deacon Flores turns his attention to Aster, who sits beside Trig Carson like a marionette with the strings cut, gaze downcast and shoulders slumped.  
  
“ _Sweetheart_ ,” and Aster thinks that her father’s tone is anything but sweet, “ _Sit up straight, please_.” He illustrates the motion for her, gaze growing stern, “ _Like a lady._ ”  
  
Aster can feel the weight of the Carsons’ and her father’s gazes on her now. She straightens her back to become perfect and poised again, a doll on display in a knee-length dress. Trig nudges his shoulder against hers, a casual attempt at closeness.

“Babe, let’s take a selfie.”

Aster nods and smiles dutifully for the camera. Trig is all smiles and charm, the crown jewel of a backwater town, and sometimes Aster supposes that this- well, this is its own sort of happiness. Quaint. Safe. Familiar, kind of like a bowl of bland mac and cheese.  
  
It’s a story straight out of some young adult novel, really, to have the most handsome and most popular boy in school with the prettiest girl in school. She should count herself lucky, right?

After all, Trig Carson isn’t a bad guy by any means. He’ll certainly treat her right if marriage’s in the cards, but it’s clear in the way that Trig’s perfect blue eyes remain glued on his phone, never sparing her so much as a glance, that Aster is just a girl to him. They’ll never talk about anything much deeper than tacos or which jacket Trig should wear. Any other girl could take Aster’s designated spot at Trig’s side on this uncomfortably small sofa, and Aster knows, oh she knows too well that there’s some who might kill for the chance if murder weren’t a sin.

Her mind spins and spins, a current of thoughts and feelings left unspoken and tucked away behind a prim smile, and Aster suddenly wishes she could go where she can get some space.  
  
 **2.**  
  
 _“I don’t believe in God.”_

The words echo in Aster’s mind over and over again, ripples in the ocean of her thoughts. Trig Carson and Paul Munsky don’t look at Aster the way that Ellie Chu does, eyes warm like sunlit soil, dark and understanding and… and what? Aster doesn’t really know, but neither Trig nor Paul make her feel the way that Ellie does so effortlessly. Not that she can even put a name to this strange feeling in the first place. Part of her isn’t sure she wants to know.

Her hands tighten a little around the steering wheel when Ellie’s face surfaces in her thoughts unbidden. The memories of their last interactions fills her head to the brim, threatening to pour over.

 _“It’s… lonely.”  
  
_ If she isn’t careful, she just might drown.  
  
Relief washes over Aster like a cool rush of water when she spots the broad, muscular outline of Paul’s back outside the Munsky’s house. She slips out of her yellow car and strides over, watching him for a few moments more before breaking the silence with a simple, quiet “Hey.”  
  
Startled, Paul wrenches his stare away from the house across the street, fixing it steadily on Aster instead. “Oh. Hey!” He chuckles softly, a bit breathless, and the corner of his mouth lifts in that awfully endearing lopsided grin. Aster still finds it one of the cutest things about Paul, but suddenly Ellie’s the one in her head again - _what would Ellie look like if she smiled?_ \- and then the question slips out of her mouth, water escaping like a stream between the cracks of her fingers.  
  
“Do you believe in God?”  
  
The confusion on Paul’s face is clear in just how incredibly fast his eyebrows shoot up, and Aster wonders if this is disappointment that gnaws at the back of her mind. “Of course,” Paul replies, squinting and tilting his head to the side, not unlike a puzzled puppy being told to sit and stay put.  
  
Her jaw tenses and she shakes her head slightly, somehow ambivalent about his answer. “Yeah, no… of course.” Uncomfortable silence stretches between them like a chasm now, punctuated by the incessant chatter of the sportscaster on the radio, and this time it is Paul who stumbles over his words in an effort to mend the bridge.   
  
“I uh, I got your painting. It was- it was pretty.” Paul smiles again, and it’s warm and safe and familiar but Aster finds little solace there this time.  
  
“…Thanks.” Aster’s response is hesitant and half-hearted, unsure of its own footing.  
  
Her mind spins and spins, a thousand miles a minute, a second, and Ellie Chu returns to the forefront of it all, Ellie with her safe eyes and her unsafe words, Ellie, Ellie, Ellie, but Aster Flores is the daughter of the deacon and the girlfriend of the richest boy in Squahamish.  
  
She can’t go there.  
  
And so, Aster grabs Paul by his sleeve and pulls him down, crashing her lips against his like waves against a steady rock in the desperate hope that Paul will be the answer.  
  
He isn’t, and Aster is more lost than ever before, alone and drifting in an endless sea.  
  
 **3.**

Ellie Chu stands a short distance away and across the street, plain and unadorned in all her simple brightness, as Aster crosses her arms protectively across her chest, unable to look straight at her. She’s afraid. Afraid to acknowledge the truth buried deep within her heart of hearts. To her credit, Ellie doesn’t push or pry. Simply apologizes in her soft, husky voice and lays her own heart bare for Aster, not once looking away.  
  
Thankfully, Ellie and Aster don’t take long to slip back into their old ways and trade playful banter, arriving at a truce with an exchange of smiles and knowing glances. Ellie’s eyes look fond, almost tender, and it’s that and the gentle smile on her face that finally stir Aster’s heart. Aster can’t help but look away, searching for the right words to say. Funny how she could be so witty and articulate in their letters, but find herself shy and tongue-tied with the real thing.

With the real Ellie Chu.  
  
“For what it’s worth,” Aster says, slowly and haltingly, mouth opening and closing soundlessly a few times, “It’s not like the thought never crossed my mind.” She doesn’t dare look at Ellie right now, for fear of what she may see looking back. Aster clings to what precious little remains of her courage, fingers curling at her sides, and continues a little shakily, “You know, if things were different. Or I was different.” Her lips tremble and she suppresses a shudder as her eyes flicker up, just in time to catch the tail end of Ellie turning away to look at the long stretch of road ahead of her.  
  
“You could never be different.” Ellie says, a note of finality in her voice that seizes Aster’s attention and refuses to let go.

As Ellie starts to walk off, bike in tow, Aster follows just a step behind, wanting to get a word in edgewise despite Ellie’s mulish determination to make an admittedly valid point. “Am I _sure_ I’m different? How do I _know_ I’m _sure_?”  
  
Aster scoffs, definitely offended by now and too riled up to notice Ellie's amusement just yet, quickens her pace, practically glaring daggers at the other girl. “Hey, I can be _sure_!” No way in hell is Aster going to let the heathen get the last word now, especially not when she’s already on her way out of Hell-quamish.  
  
Ellie shrugs and replies breezily, “I mean, what does God think?”  
  
“—Oh, my God.”  
  
“Just on, and on, and on—“

Jabbing her finger at Ellie’s retreating back, Aster picks up her stride and finally catches up, not backing down even when a playfully smug Ellie meets her eyes with a steady stare and a challenging “Mmhm?”  
  
“And you know, you— you watch. Okay? In a couple of years, I am _gonna be so sure_.”

Ellie’s smile is impossibly fond. “Good luck with that.” Somehow Aster knows she means it.

And just like that, Aster relaxes and chuckles softly, returning that precious and delicate fondness in her own gaze. It’s hard to stay mad at Ellie for some reason. “Find something good in Iowa to believe in, heathen.” She hopes against hope that Ellie will understand what she’s chosen to leave unsaid.

Instead, Ellie nods and starts to walk away. Aster’s heart sinks.

Her mind spins and spins, a cacophony of thoughts and feelings whirling beneath a calm veneer of nonchalance, and Aster thinks that maybe it’ll be okay like this, that this is all the story of Ellie Chu and Aster Flores will ever be, just a flicker of something unspoken.

The clatter of a bike against the road breaks through the riot between her ears and yanks Aster out of her reverie to plant her firmly in the present, worlds away from the possibilities, the half-formed maybes and what-ifs and somedays. Ellie sprints toward her as if both their lives depend on it, and Aster can only stare and stand rooted to the ground, too shocked, too hopeful to do anything else but stay put.

The callused palms and fingertips that cup her face so firmly yet gently are warm and safe and strong— Aster's eyes flutter shut. Her knees tremble. Her mind grows quiet. She lets herself fall because Ellie’s lips feel like the closest she's ever come to finding her place in this screwy world. 

Ellie kisses Aster like she’s plucking a star from the sky, and Aster kisses her back like she’s finding her way home. 

\--- 

_Too many words circle around me_   
_But none of them feel how I feel_   
_I just feel it_   
_Like the moon rises after the sun rises_   
_Like how fingernails grow_   
_Like trees that shed their bark once a year_   
_That you are the one who will give meaning to my memories_

**Author's Note:**

> you know you're in deep when you apply one of your favorite bts songs to the ship.... yes that's rm's trivia: love. i might edit this work to pad it some more if inspiration strikes, but i just really wanted to get it all out there before the energy left... i am old and tired and gay. thanks for reading, and you can find me on twitter @ prismaticego!


End file.
